


Pride and Prejudice AU that never was

by star_k



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Sorry to disappoint, it was supposed to have lots of hate sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 22:46:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12375723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/star_k/pseuds/star_k
Summary: Basically the p&p no one asked for and that i got too lazy to finish. or as i like to call it "louizzie hates harrcy, but they hate bang a lot anyway".I do have a playlist tho. check it out.





	Pride and Prejudice AU that never was

**Author's Note:**

> there was an attempt and therefore i should not be criticized.
> 
> also. i'm sorry jane, i bet you're a lovely woman.

“ _ It is a truth universally acknowledged _ ,” intoned a scratchy voice, boredom apparent in the Yorkshire accent “ _ that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. _ ”

 

Louis closed the book, turning back to his friend silently laughing beside him as he made a spectacle of himself. They walked down a busy street nearby their university, wary of the London morning fog seeping into their bones.

 

“Honestly, Pez, this is such bollocks! Why are we supposed to read this again?” He waved his hands exasperatedly, book secured in his right one, to express how absurd the whole idea seemed. Normally he wasn’t this whiny about his course work (who was he kidding, yes he was) but this semester seemed especially exasperating. As he got rea;dy this morning, a sense of impending doom followed him through brushing his teeth or putting in his vans. Every semester that neared graduation felt like a step closer to the bigger unknown and scary path his career could take, so that monday morning was particularly gloomy, adding to his early morning moodiness. Why the fuck did he choose an early class again? 

 

People passed them by, students (first years) in a rush to get to their classes early. Donned in a jeans jacket to block the wind, hair down to his stubbled chin, Louis looked every piece the ragged drama student he was. Perrie, walking by his side, impeccable even at this hour, shrugged in response.

 

“It’s on the syllabus, Louis. Classic literature. Stop whining.” She smiled while waving at a passerby she knew from of one her music classes, too many years of easy friendship with Louis to care about his antics by now.

 

“But look at this,” he turned back to his high and annoying voice, opening the book back again on the first page. “ _ My dear Mr. Bennet, said his lady to him one day, have you heard that Netherfield Park is let at last?  _ Amazing, great news, the house was rented. Good job.”

 

Perrie laughed loudly beside him. “Didn’t you read this back in school? Why are you so mad at it?”

 

Louis shrugged. “Do you honest to God think I remember that? School was ages ago.”

 

“Louis, even if you complain like an old man, you’re still 23.”

 

“Oh no, you can’t laugh. It’s not my fault. Look, ‘ _ But it is, returned she; for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she told me all about it. _ ’ What a bunch of gossip hags. And we’re supposed to read that? Can’t I just watch the movie? Way quicker and prettier. God bless that Mr. Darcy.”

 

Perrie shrugged. “You can, but that would affect your mark, and to be honest? It seem like you’d get an A out of it. A critical spirit, you are. Very poignant. Great perspective. You should be proud of that.”

 

Louis scoffed. “Oh yeah, you bet your arse I am. Proud enough to not want to read this shit and – are you kidding me? Look at this. ‘ _Oh! Single, my dear, to be sure! A single man of large fortune; four or five thousand a year. What a fine thing for our girls!’_ Four or five thousand a year! What a fine example of life’s priorities as well. I’ll read the girls this every night so they learn what they should look for in life.” They were stopped by a sidewalk, waiting to cross to their university grounds. Louis scratched his stubbly cheek, quickly checking his phone to see how long till their classes began. A new message, not the one he wanted. “What kind of bullshit, honestly? I thought this was written by a woman?”

 

“A woman of her time, Louis,  _ honestly, _ ” Perrie rolled her eyes, hugging his left arm so they could walk closer as they crossed the street. “Stop the nagging, will you? You could even learn to enjoy it, given some time.”

 

“I could come to burn it, given some time,” mumbled the boy. “I thought the classics were made to reflect upon our daily lives and give insight into human nature, or shit like that.” He complemented his words with a flick of his wrist. “What am I to do with this, anyway? Find myself a–,” he turned to the book, “– _ a single man in possession of a good fortune who must be in want of a _ husband? The hell?”

 

Perrie clicked her tongue. “You could be in for a surprise, you know. Life imitates art, and all that jazz. Maybe cute Luke from the club could finally call you back. What do you think? Is he in possession of a good fortune?” She waggled her eyebrows dramatically, giving him a small kiss on the cheek as goodbye.

 

“Maybe cute Luke from the club could bite my arse.” Louis scrunched his nose to Perrie’s “Kinky!” reply. “He read my last message and didn’t reply. Fuck him. And fuck this book, too. God only knows I’ve got zero time for this kind of shit this semester anyway.”

 

The duo had just arrived at their classes’ building, Perrie walking a bit quicker since her first class was on the last floor while Louis’ was on the first one.

 

“What kind of shit?” Asked the girl loudly. “Romance?”

 

To what Louis yelled back with a laugh. “Men!”

 

(Of course, that was a lie and both knew it. But Louis could at least pretend a little bit.)

 

*

 

It was Louis’ third year in college as a very proud Drama student, thank you very much.

 

He’d taken a gap year after sixth-form because he wanted to save a little bit of money before moving to London – and, to be honest, because he had no fucking clue what he wanted to major in. Drama, he learned later, truly was his passion and he never regretted that choice during the three years of hard work, little sleep, and party going days. 

 

People normally think Drama is nothing but fancy productions and re(rererere)reads of Shakespeare, although they are not completely wrong, it’s also quite inaccurate. There’re rehearsals – so many of them – , there’s improvisation classes, there’s speech, singing, storytelling, stagecraft, mime (now that was a fun one for Louis), circus, showdance, Western theatre, television work, and there’s…

 

There’s a morning class on Poetry and Prose: Lyrics Writing with music majors.

 

Why.

 

Louis isn’t going to lie, he’s a music enthusiast. He took that class willingly, in the hopes the future could bring something huge, a production under his name, maybe a song or two (He could be the new Lin-Manuel Miranda, just you wait). Scribbled under drafts and drafts on Victorians plays you could find a tease of a rhyme, maybe a chorus of a song, in rushed writing just to replicate a thought or two. Yeah, Louis was a music enthusiast – not a snob, or a judgemental prick who thought there was a distinction on what “real music” was. He just liked what he liked.

 

And as he entered his class, he could see that was his mistake number one: music majors were the definition of music snobs. You could see by the round of their glasses and the tilt of their noses exactly what they thought of mainstream music or the people who liked it.

 

Jesus fuck, there’s even a guy wearing a fedora and a button down. In a morning class. Dude, chill. Cover the nipples, nobody wants to see your butterfly tattoo or the nightingales anyway.

 

Scratching his nose to avoid the uncomfortable visual contact with the fedora-boy (and hide his wince by being caught checking out the guy), Louis made his way to an empty chair in the middle of the class, avoiding big groups of people and a guy with a guitar, strumming what he hoped wasn’t Wonderwall. Apparently, his mistake number two was forgetting to check if one of his acquaintances was going to take this class with him. God help him.

 

Taking out his phone, putting his bag and the book in his hands down, Louis used social media to distract himself before the class began. A tagged picture from Saturday’s “Welcome back, fuckers!” party, still no reply from Luke, an ignored message sent to Liam (fucker must STILL be sleeping his hangover away, worst roommate ever), Lottie’s last message of “Prick!!! You said you’d take me to West End last month!!” answered with a cheeky emoji. With a deep sigh, he locked his phone, wondering if he should have bought that cuppa before class, just so he could fit in with the types wandering inside the class. Next week he would stop by a coffee shop and buy some with Perrie, at least he’d enjoy her company for it.

 

“Nice shirt. Mind if I sit here?”

 

Louis fixed his fringe before looking up, sending a prayer to the gods it wasn’t one of the John Lennon’s wannabes. Dyed hair, stubbly chin, cheekbones, strong jaw. The hipster glasses were a let down, but the small earring and a leather jacket were a win – a bit much for morning, but welcomed anyway. Plus, Louis was wearing his classic –  _ vintage _ – Les Miserables t-shirt. A compliment to the classics was a compliment to Louis.

 

“Yeah, sure, sit down. You can stay.” Louis smiled invitingly. He watched from the side of his eye as the boy sat down with a tired huff, fixing his glasses and taking a notebook out of his bag.

 

Louis burned with curiosity. Okay, he was obviously a music major and therefore a big no-no for Louis. However, he was hot as shit and he couldn’t stop his mind from wandering. Maybe a casual encounter could lift his spirits for this semester - to begin it with a bang.

 

Ha.

 

As they caught each other staring for the third time in so much as a minute, both chuckled slightly and turned towards each other, both clearly interested into each other. Louis was the first to break the silence. “Are you a musical fan? What’s your name?”

 

“I sat down here because I thought you wouldn’t be one of the chatty types, but I guess I was wrong.” At Louis’ affronted stare, the boy continued, smirking a bit. “I’m kidding. Well, not really, but it’s not unwelcomed. Name is Zayn Malik. Not really much of a fan, I only know the classic ones. Are you a Drama student? Will you bite my head off if I say I have never seen West Side Story?”

 

“No, but I will if you’ve never seen Grease.” Louis continued, enjoying the snark the other was showing. “Louis Tomlinson, Drama student, drama queen, third year. Probably the only student here who won’t bite your head off based on what you listen to – Grease notwithstanding.”

 

“Ah,” Zayn extended his hand to shake Louis’, both sharing an instant camaraderie in their dislike for their surroundings, “I’m pleased to hear that. It means you won’t judge me when I tell you I’m a music major whose sleep schedule has been fucked over too many nights DJing Drake for the common folks.”

 

Louis smirked, “I’ll only judge the fact you didn’t invite me. However,” at this, he tilted his head, biting his lower lip as he shared what sounded like an awful secret with the other one. “Nipples boy over there may not like it. Drake doesn’t quite fit in with his style, don’t you think? Clashes with the fedora and the butterfly.”

 

Zayn slyly looked over Louis’ shoulder to see a young boy, looking at his phone while a blonde boy talked a mile a minute to him. It was quite easy to see he was the one Louis was talking about because the description fit as he seemed to have a: fedora, check; butterfly, check; nipples out, check. Tight jeans, boots, a see-through button up and a black coat. An aura of pretentiousness so big you could hear ‘I only listen to real music’ from three seats over. Zayn raised an eyebrow and looked back at Louis. “Looks like golden boots wouldn’t quite appreciate it, but that’s because he’s Harry Styles.”

 

“Who?”

 

“Harry Styles, Music Major Golden Boy to match with his golden boots. Every teacher bets he’s gonna be the next big thing to leave this College. And to be honest? So does everyone else.” Zayn shrugged and hooked an arm around Louis’ seat, getting as close as he could to speak as low as possible, so no one could hear them. “Seems like a prick to me, to be honest. He’s polite to everyone, yes, to the point it could seem fake, but he doesn’t actually open up to anyone but the blondie over there. Which is a shame, I’d quite like to be opened up by the blondie.” Louis snickered. “He’s a second year just like me. I remember last semester we had a group project with some other music majors – he didn’t like our “Street Music” project and refused to do his ‘one man, one mic, one guitar’ with anyone but Horan. That’s the blondie’s name, by the way, Niall Horan. So, we mortals were left to do whatever the fuck we wanted without Curly over there, and I missed my chance to have a real talk with Horan. Quite a shame.”

 

“Really.” Louis dragged on disbelievingly, as he looked over his shoulder just in time to see Harry rise his eyes from his phone, making a quick eye contact before he turned back to speak to Zayn. “Quite the shame indeed.”

 

Zayn crackled and let go of Louis’ seat, just in time to see their prof get in. “I like you, Tomlinson. I think this might be the beginning of a beautiful Monday morning friendship. May I have your number so I can text you my next gig?”

 

“Alas, friendzoned again,” Louis fake pouted as he passed his phone over to Zayn, who saved his own number, before sending himself a text to save Louis’. “What ever shall I do to outlive such despair?”

 

Zayn chuckled. “You’ll survive.”

 

The prof called attention to the class, taking attendance and making everyone turn back to his introduction of the course. Louis wrote down all the important info to survive the semester – exam dates, papers due, overall grading and absence policy – then let his mind wonder. He wasn’t kidding when he fake pouted at Zayn: to flirt with the boy seemed ideal. Sadly, not every student in their college was as easy to talk to as Zayn – art students could be every bit a prick as stereotypes suggest them to be. Louis has had his fair share of messy encounters: wounded egos, fuck buddies gone awry, and ex-boyfriends to last a generation of bad-mouthing. It wasn’t a joke when people noted that artists had a temper, or an ego, he had been through it all. But the boy has needs, and there was only so much his own hand could do. This semester, this whole year, would prove to be a challenge for his professional (and social) life – so many projects and rehearsals he would have trouble getting enough sleep, let alone to have time to find someone to fuck. A fuck-buddy, a casual stranger to share his nights with would be ideal to at least help him burn some stress off.

 

He remembers his first year, a bright eyed Louis Tomlinson, fresh into the university where everything was magical and every opportunity a gift itself. He left his town of Doncaster to take a chance in following his passion, his family as big a support as he could have ever wished for. He likes to think he wasn’t as naive as first years look nowadays, but who was he kidding? He was just as bad as them, in love with the idea of being famous and revolutionary and reinventing Art. 

 

(To be honest, he still dreams of it, but now he can better see how hard that path goes.)

 

Art. Louis knows what Art is. He grew up with it, singing romantic songs with his mom in the mornings, belting boy band lyrics with his younger sisters, starring in a Grease production in High School. Art is supposed to be felt, to be shared, not to be put on a pedestal of pretentious arses scratching their chins and pretending to understand the depth of the artist’s pain. Pain can be artistic just as much as a laugh, a comedy no less a masterpiece than a 2,000 word count of depressed feelings and ego masturbation. Although, to Louis, the latter falls in the category of rubbish; a true artist is the one who can turn their sorrows into kindness and happiness for those surrounding them. There’s too much pain in the world, he thinks. Art should be a sure way to make people feel better despite it.

 

“Mr. Tomlinson?”

 

Louis brought his attention back to see Mr. Corden looking around, trying to find out who he was in the middle of the crowd. He raised his hand, the professor giving a small smile in return.

 

“Tell me, Mr. Tomlinson. What is your opinion on music?” His professor looked kind enough, sitting down on top of his desk to better look at him and assess his answer. It seemed like this class would be full of discussions, there was nothing written down on the blackboard and the projector was turned off. Mr. Corden held a piece of paper of what Louis calculated was this class attendance. So he had been chosen between all the names on that list. Nice. Okay, he could do that.

 

“Is this a trick question?” The students snickered all around him, the professor giving a small chuckle himself.

 

“Not really. I just saw that you’re the only Drama student in this class and I’m curious to hear your thoughts. An exciting way to begin this semester, I think. So?” 

 

Louis scratched his stubble to think on how to answer that. “Well, I obviously like it enough to take a monday morning class on it.” Again, some students laughed a bit around him, Zayn snickering beside him loudly.

 

“Ah, yes, good point. Liking it enough to enroll in an 8 in the morning class is a valid argument. Why does it matter to a Drama student, though? What importance does it have to make you all wake up this early? What excites you, is it the lyrics? the rhythm? the melody?”

 

“Ah,” Louis tapped his fingers on his desk, understanding where exactly his professor wanted to go with this inquiry. He normally liked this type of classes, where you discussed the course rather than only copied some lines or dates on his notebook, but at the moment he felt too singled out to properly enjoy it. “I guess I’m attracted to the lyrics first. I mean, it’s the combination of all three, but a good lyric can work however you want. Put it in pop, rock, jazz, remix it, whatever. The essence is still there, so it still works.”

 

“Give us an example.”

 

Louis nervously fixed his fringe. “Okay, so we have Bang Bang by Nancy Sinatra. Real classic, everyone loves it. Then David Guetta comes and remixes it, gives it a new rhythm and people get to enjoy it again in a new environment. But it’s the same lyric, so basically it’s the same song, the essence of the classic it’s still there. It’s still good, isn’t it? Now it’s just–updated.”

 

“Okay, so you’re saying the lyrics make the music, be it good or bad, with whatever rhythm it’s played in.” At Louis’ small nod the teacher looked at the class in large. “Do you all agree? Does anyone want to complement what Mr Tomlinson has said?” Nobody showed any signs of saying anything. “Does anyone disagree?”

 

“I do.”

 

Louis turned to look at the source of the deep voice. Of course it was Harry Styles and of course he was already looking at Louis. Just his luck to get in a debate with golden boy on his very first class with the music students.

 

“Please elaborate, Mr Styles.” Mr. Corden sounded cheery, not even looking at the attendance paper to know exactly who the boy was.

 

“I think,” Styles turned his stare to their professor, looking full of resolution in his own opinion. “The lyrics are not even a necessary part of music, least of all the most important characteristic. Wasn’t it Adorno who said lyrics and music interplay in popular music just like words and pictures do in advertising? The essence of music, true music, lays on the melody. Just like the classics. Lyrics are part of the popular advance of music commercialism, the industry, so even if they are spread nowadays in how we consume music, it is by no means what music really is. Any real fan of music would understand that.”

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, what a snob.” Louis turned to Zayn, not speaking loud enough for their professor to listen, but not bothering to whisper either. Zayn tried to hide his laugh in a small cough when he saw Styles turning to look at them. 

 

“That is a good point, Mr Styles. And he did say that. But who decides on what’s proper music anyway? So we have an argument for lyrics and one for melody, who-”

 

“Excuse me, Professor?” Louis raised his hand lazily in the air, “Sorry to interrupt, but could I have a word?”

 

“Oh, sure, yes. Go ahead.” 

 

The whole classroom seemed to hold it’s breath while Louis straightened on his chair, hands passing on his shirt front to calm the confrontation jitters he was feeling. Louis wasn’t much for direct hostility like this, but the Golden Boy got under his skin too quickly to let it pass. Sarcasm wouldn’t be enough to crumble that pretentiousness down and Louis’ wasn’t one to back down from a fight when he had to.

Also, the guy had said “real fan of music”. What kind of next level bulshit was that. As if all the knowledge Louis’ had was nothing and his opinion worth even less.

 

“Even if Mr Styles there has a point on how melody may be fundamental for music and music History, he may as well be forgetting how times have changed. If music is Art and Art is meant to be shared, what is the use of it if it doesn’t connect to the public? There is no space for “pure” music or whatever it is supposed to be. It is about connecting people and enjoying it, isn’t it? Commercial as it may be, the artist needs to eat and the public wants to share on what the music says, so I see no problem in it. There is no need to build such a high pedestal. I guess any real fan of music would understand something quite so simple.” 

 

Louis didn’t dignify Styles in turning again to see what his reaction would be. Although he did look to see Zayn biting his lips and trying to hide his face after looking behind their backs.

 

“This is not about pedestal, it’s about understanding that some music are good and some are not so good. If it is Art, then it should be improved and you cannot improve it if it is a repeated beat with 4 different notes. If that.”

 

Louis turned to take a look at Styles, barely believing the guy really did want to do that. It seemed like neither would back down from a fight and as they made eye contact, contempt poured from both equally.

 

“So what you’re saying is that I could write the Shakespeare of music, but because it doesn’t meet your standards on how music should be written it isn’t a piece of Art, even if millions of people connect to it.” Louis tried again, evaluating how far Nipples would go with his twisted opinions.

 

“That’s populum fallacy right there. It’s not because a lot of people like it that makes - that makes it good per se. I don’t think you understand, coming from Drama classes, but not everything is meant to be a lighten up stage and a show. Quality music is about composition, not singing chorus or - or dancing bodies on a club.” Harry waved lazily, his eyes never straying from Louis’ fixed stare.

 

“Right, so what do you suggest real music is, then? Give us an example.” Mr. Corden interrupted, clearly delighted by the discussion going on.

 

“When Pink Floyd-” Harry tried to turn back to their teacher, but Louis interrupted him again.

 

“Wasn’t it a band for the masses?”

 

“The educated masses.” Harry rolled his eyes. “It’s not anyone who can appreciate what they did and the work they composed. Not even their musical movie was a cheap attempt of lyricism like, well, musicals. We’re talking about using lyrics to tell a story with beautiful, fundamental melody, not a- a rip off of a Victor Hugo classic with some people singing their lines, for examples.”

 

“Hold the fuck up, mate. So what, Queen writes a music for Flash Gordon and then becomes a secondary band? Both you and I know that isn’t real and your argument is sh- poor. Not to mention Opera Rock as a form of art in itself, music adapting to theater. So now they’re a shit band? Because they don’t fit into your upstanding ideas of lyricism and melody? Guess someone got it wrong here, Mr Styles, and it definitely wasn’t Freddie Mercury.”

 

“Okay! Okay, that’s enough.” Mr Corden waved his hands to interrupt both students in their heated argument. “Come on, guys, let’s keep a minimum decorum here, shall we? Thanks for your thoughts, both of you, now let’s see. We have-”

 

Louis turned back on his seat, not before throwing an unimpressed look towards Styles one last time. “Can you believe that guy?” He whispered to Zayn, huffing impatiently as Zayn shrugged full of mirth.

 

“That’s Styles for you. The guy is an overachiever.”

 

“That guy is a pain in the arse.” Louis murmured back, pretending to pay attention to their professor.

 

“You wouldn’t be so lucky, mate. Trust me, nobody has that pleasure as far as I know.” Zayn had his head held by his left arm, giving sly glances back to Louis as he doodled on his notebook.

 

“Trust me, I’d be the last person to ask.”

 

*

 

“He is obnoxious, Liam,” whined Louis as he fell belly down into his own bed, “so fucking conceited I wanted to strangle him with his own hair.”

 

“Who is?” Liam asked, sitting down on his desk, typing away on his computer (Louis bet half his money he was actually on facebook instead of doing his paper) and barely paying attention to him.

 

“The cunt in my morning class. God, Li, pay some attention, please.” Louis took off his shoes with his feet, not paying attention where they fell before turning sideways and looking straight on to Liam.

 

“I wish I could still cancel this class but it seemed so interesting. I am NOT going to back down from it just because prejudiced, prepotent, pretentious git is also in it.”

 

“Woah, woah, many words there.” Liam laughed, still not looking at Louis - prompting him to throw a pillow at his head. “Stop it, Lou.”

 

“It’s! Not! Funny!” Louis pointed every word with a different (dirty) clothe being thrown to Liam’s head. “I got into a discussion in class, my very first day of class, because he couldn’t keep his wrong opinions to himself. God, I wanted to slap him.”

 

Liam turned to glare at him, taking down the dirty sock dangling from his head. “And you thought you were the right person to show him his wrong ways.”

 

“I didn’t think so, I knew so. I met this guy, right, his name is Zayn.” Louis sat down on the bed, his hands fisting his wiggling toes as he continued, “and he told me everyone and their mums adore every breath that cunt takes, so yeah, it had to be me.”

 

“Was that a queef joke? Wait, who is he anyway?”

 

Louis snorted. “I knew I had a reason to consider you my best friend. A queef sounds exactly like him.”

 

“How would you even know that, Tomlinson.” Liam glowered in his direction. “Who is he anyway?”

 

“I know many things, Payne. I am a gay being of enlightenment.” Louis kept on stalling, taking a piss off Liam’s curiosity. 

 

“I’m going to pretend these last two minutes didn’t happen and then you’re going to quit stalling and tell me exactly who you’re whining about.” Liam rolled his eyes. Being friends and roommate with Louis for the last three years had brought him an internal guide on how to deal with his mischief. (Normally Liam just added some mischief of his own).

 

“Fine. Guy’s named Harry Styles. Even his name is pretentious, how the fuck is that possible? Did his mum plan for him to be a little bitch or something?” Louis ranted, looking down at his socks and pulling the loose thread on one of them.

 

“Oh. Him.”

 

“What?” Louis looked at Liam quickly, “you know him? How come I’m the only one who didn’t know him?”

 

“Yeah, I’ve met him once or twice. He’s alright, very polite. Doesn’t match your dissing at all.” Liam shrugged and went back to his computer. “He played at one of our recitals.”

 

“The fuck, Payno. You’re supposed to back me up. I tell you the guy is a dick and you say he’s polite?” 

 

“But he is.”

 

“The fuck he is. He said, and I quote, ‘every fan of real music would understand that, you dumb twat’, how does that sound polite to you? Pardon,  _ very _ polite?” Louis said, sitting down at the edge of his bed, slapping Liam on his knee to bring his attention back to him.

 

“I highly,  _ highly _ doubt he said that.” Liam ignored Louis scratch of ‘HE DID!’ and continued. “If you don’t trust me, come take a look. I have him on my facebook, he is possibly one of the friendliest guy on campus, everybody knows him. Plus his instagram is really popular.”

 

“ _ Popular, I know about popular, _ ” mocked Louis, “lad could be a flying monkey but since everybody likes his curls he becomes the hotshot of campus.”

 

“It honestly seems like you’re the one interested in his curls, Lou.” Liam commented airily, already waiting for the slap Louis gave on his arm.

 

“Shut the hell up, Payne. Now show me his facebook, I need some mocking material.”

 

As Liam opened the page, Louis squatted beside his chair, checking whatever info he could while Liam scrolled down Harry’s facebook page. Both were friends on the social media, but didn’t interact much - if at all. A like here or there, as not-really-friends usually did on facebook. Harry rarely posted on facebook, it seemed, a random (very fucking random) status here or there, some seriously worded interaction between his closest friends and family. He had no photo album, it seemed like that particular hobby was saved for instagram. But his tagged pics. Oh, those were golden.

 

Drunk pics with blondie (Neill?), drunk (and very fucking high) pics with Grimshaw of all people, some of him playing at the local pub, and lots, LOTS with so many random people it was impossible to know if they were really friends or just groupies making face for when (IF) he became famous at all.

 

“You can’t possibly mock these pics, Louis,” Liam sighed exasperated. “Your tagged pics are way,  _ way _ worse.”

 

“I’ll mock whatever the hell I want, Leeyum. Plus, I look fabulous when drunk, my pics should be in the museum, what the hell are you talking about?”

 

“You have a picture in your briefs and a hospital gown, Louis.”

 

“A true classic that deserves every piece of respect it deserves. Now, come on, open his instagram, this is boring.” Louis faked he was going to take Liam’s mouse from his hand, earning a small shove for his troubles as Liam typed in the page for Harry’s instagram.

 

Louis felt validated as he looked at (stalked) Harry’s social media. It didn’t seem like it was an one off, the guy really was as ridiculous as he sounded that morning. What kind of person had a black and white pic of himself with a camera on his face as a profile picture? Pretentious assholes, that’s who. Plus all that random shit posting of his. The lack of emojis. Formal punctuation. It was all too annoying.

 

Although he wouldn’t say out loud, but he did find two aspects of Harry he could respect: his very obvious closeness to his family, and also his dimples.

 

Who could predict the devil himself would have dimples. Satan came with a lot of surprises, it seemed.

 

“Is his instagram all black and white or did I just become colour blind?” Louis asked incredulously.

 

“It is.” Giggled Liam.

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, do I even need to argue anymore? Look at that.” He waved his hands outraged, “that’s the peak of hipsterism, I couldn’t make this shit up even if I tried. What the hell?”

 

Liam couldn’t control his laugh at Louis tune; he wouldn’t say it out loud but he did agree a bit with Louis. Even if aesthetically pleasing, it did look a bit too much.

 

“Ok, grumpy, let’s go. That’s enough Harry Styles for you, let’s go eat.” He closed the tab, shutting down his screen so they could go out, pocketing his phone and wallet as he stood up.

 

Louis groaned a bit as he got up, his knees popping a bit. “Shit, I’m old. Come on, I’m your grandpa now, Liam. Feed me.”

 

“Right, pops, you do complain like an old man. Guide the way, I know you feel like junk food today.” He pushed Louis slightly towards the door, almost making him fall on his face while Louis pushed his vans on his feet.

 

“Oi, watch it, mate.” Louis finished putting his shoes on, grabbing his stuff from the bed and walking towards their door. “Come on, pumpkin pie, you’re right and I need me some BigMacs. Hurry up, don’t slow me down.  Let’s write a story for tonight. ”

 

*

 

Truth be told, by next monday Louis had already forgotten Harry Styles even existed. 

 

“I swear to God, Perrie, I’m not looking for anyone at all.” Louis accepted his coffee order from a girl behind the counter, giving her a small thank you in return before turning to see Perrie do the same. “I’m fine like this. Also, it’s not as if it’s going to work, you know? I’m busy.”

 

“Say whatever you want, Louis, but when you get this mopey laying around my house is because you miss having someone to share your day with.” She finished her phrase with a pointed look and a small sip from her cup.

 

“I don’t.”

 

“Yes you do, love.” Perrie rolled her eyes at him, both of them leaving the coffee shop nearby their campus to fight the frigid air outside, making their way to their classes. “Our Sunday was shared pints of ice cream and Grease, that’s single at Valentine’s Day content right there.”

 

“You say that as if you’re complaining.” Louis hugged himself a bit more, grumpy at his friend’s argument over his feelings. God, he hated it when Perrie spoke as if she knew him better than he did, especially when she could possibly be right.

 

“You know I’m not, I love it. I just happen to also know this is your ritual pre-hunting. I don’t give two months till you appear with a new boy in town. Anyone in your radar so far?” She gave him a sly look, pulling Louis forwards so they could cross the street quicker before the cars started beeping.

 

“Ugh, no, and there won’t be.” Louis shoved her slightly. “Stop talking trash.”

 

“Stop denying it, lover boy.” Perrie laughed at his him. “Face it, you love being in love.”

 

“I’ve never been in love, you know that.” He nudged her shoulder, before taking another sip from his cup. Fuck, he just burned his tongue.

 

“Fine, you love being in lust, in like, in a passionate state of mutual pleasing benefits and dates.” She mocked him and laughed louder at his mumbled ‘you’re ridiculous’. Both were smiling freely that morning, enjoying their easy company.

 

“Fine, that’s true, but it doesn’t mean I want anyone for now.” Louis licked his lips, the sting in his burned tongue hurting a little bit. “I mean, I wouldn’t say no to a casual arrangement of sorts, I’m not an idiot. Doesn’t mean I will go actively looking for it.”

 

“I bet my entire house and my dogs you already entertained the idea with someone else.” 

 

“His name is Zayn, but it’s pretty clear there won’t be nothing but friendship there.” Louis could barely finish his sentence before Perrie began cackling loudly.

 

“HA! I knew it. Also I think I know him, isn’t he DJing next weekend’s party?” She asked, using a sweater paw to damp her eyes from laughing so much. 

 

“Yeah, he is. He invited me, you coming?” 

 

“Could be. I’m gonna ask the girls, see if they’d like to.” 

 

“Cool.” They’d arrived at their campus building, both hugging quickly before parting ways to walk to their classes.

 

“See you later, Pezzie.”

 

“See you, Tomtom.”

 

Louis rolled his eyes at the ridiculous nickname, smiling a bit as he took another sip from his coffee. He had no idea where he’d be without his friends, he loved them to pieces. Perrie had been another one he’d made at college, them both becoming friends rapidly by their similar tempers and smart tongue. They’d met at a party in their first year, Perrie being a Music student had drawn a curiosity from Louis, who had been interested in a cute guy from Music as well. He couldn’t remember much of that night (and neither could Perrie, both were three sheets drunk to the wind), the relationship with the guy was a mess but his friendship with Perrie had stayed and he was grateful for that. 

 

As he always said, relationships based on alcohol were relationships to last a lifelong.

 

(Liam always disagreed, but what did Liam know, anyway?)

 

As he entered the last floor of the building, walking down towards Mr. Corden’s class, he realized how early he was, two figures standing outside the door instead of going inside. Louis squinted his eyes, trying to identify one of those, see if his new friend Zayn was nearby so they could go in together, chatter a bit perhaps. No such luck, it was a blondie and-

 

Styles. Of course, how could he have forgotten him. Maybe it was the lack of hat, or the fact he was wearing a closed blouse, even if still see through. Louis glared, exasperated by the guy’s very own existence when blondie saw him approaching, a grin on his face when his eyes focused on Louis - who quickly averted his own, gulping down his tea faster than he should, considering how hot it still was.

 

“Fuck,” Louis cursed, the liquid too hot on his throat, a small bit running down the corner of his mouth. As he dried it with his sweater paw, a voice asked behind him if he was alright. “Yeah, mate, just, you know. The tea was too hot.”

 

His smile faltered when he looked upwards to see one Mr. Harry Styles closer than before, two steps to his side and a concerned look on his face. Louis blinked, an uncomfortable smile on his face as Harry kept looking at him, focused on his face, not saying anything.

 

“Right.” Louis began, clearing his throat and immediately regretting it by how sore it was. He made a hurt noise, his free hand coming up to hold his neck slightly, mindful of it.

 

“Here, drink this.” Harry took a bottle outside of his bag, giving it to Louis who made no motion to grab it. “It’s water, it’s gonna help sooth your throat.”

 

“No, thanks, I’m good.” Louis tried to escape, but when he looked back at Harry’s earnest face he sighed, grabbed the bottle and took a small sip off it, the water soothing down his burning throat. “Thank you.” As he gave the bottle back, their hands touched, a small contact of wars fingers over the bottle. Louis stared at Harry again, a moment between them before Louis smiled small yet again, nodded and left, walking towards their opened classroom without looking back.

 

Maybe Styles wasn’t so bad.

 

*

 

He was worse.

 

“Goddamn it, Zayn.” He groaned, his small hand hiding his face away from the lunch crowd, both of them sitting in a table by the corner of the small cafe. “I can’t stand him.”

 

“So you’ve said.” Zayn smirked, laughing a bit at Louis’ antics. After class they decided to have lunch together, to try and enjoy the rest of the monday. “Many times, might I add.”

 

“He’s just so pretentious, did you hear him?” Louis slicked his hair back, posture pompous and voice low, rougher to imitate Harry’s, “‘ _ Music is sounds arranged as Art. Of course it isn’t all kinds of arranged sounds that make music a form of art, much like all kinds of drawings aren’t either. Commercial boybands aren’t music making as much as a child’s drawing aren’t museum worthy. _ ’” Louis huffed out an annoyed breath, “God, I wanted to punch him while singing ‘ _ bye, bye, bye _ ’.”

 

Zayn laughed out loud, the small strand of hair falling on his forehead turning the picture God like. Maybe the N’Sync wasn’t a form of Art, but Zayn sure as hell was. Louis wondered if it was too much of a new friendship breach to tell him what a masterpiece he looked like. (Yes, it was, but Louis had an itch inside his bones that he didn’t know how to settle.)

 

“Are you gonna play this weekend? Is there any party this week worthy enough of my presence?” He asked before biting into his food, eyes flickering over the crowd, looking for anyone he knew.

**Author's Note:**

> aaaand that's a wrap, folks.
> 
> congrats to you if you read this lol i'm very sorry to say it was supposed to have a full sex scene to the sound of in my time of dying (by led zep) because we all should have a full sex scene to the sound of led. it was gonna have 3 different positions in one. also a rimming scene in french because harry really is a pretentious arse.
> 
> sad.
> 
> anyway, c'est la vie. la lazy vie.  
> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


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